


Dumb Stuff

by chewysugar



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Lazy Mornings, Making Out, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 19:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14143008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: Peter loves things best when there's nothing happening at all.





	Dumb Stuff

Lazy days made lazy conversation as meaningful as wedding vows. Peter had found that he was happiest when there was not only nothing going on in either of his lives, but when nothing whatsoever seemed to be occurring in the least. There wasn’t any room for anything, not even Spider-Man. All he had to was be—and on days like today, be with Mary Jane.

Wrapped and tangled in blankets and sheets, neither of them had moved much since waking up that morning. Peter had dutifully gone to get some coffee and a plate stacked high with toaster pastries, but that was it and all. Both he and MJ had woken up with the unspoken understanding that they weren’t going to do dick all between eight in the morning and whenever they fell asleep that evening.

She lay stretched beside him, her hair a sloppy mess. Yet still she had the power to make him feel as if he were something lesser in her presence, and he didn’t care at all about it.

“God, Viola Davis is so beautiful,” MJ said. Her eyes were fixed on the rerun of _How to Get Away With Murder_. Peter, resting against the headboard with the covers pooled around his waist, grunted in response. Too busy keeping his eyes fixed on the physical beauty curled up next to him, he wouldn’t have noticed had Annalise Keating walked out of the heightened melodrama and into their bedroom.

“I could totally audition for this show,” MJ said. She swiped a line of cream cheese from her third toaster strudel. Peter watched with a little too much interest as the sugary goo disappeared between Mary Jane’s cherry lips. “But, like, I’d rather play one of the crooks. So much more exciting. It’d be great to have Viola Davis grilling me. Even playing one of her love interests would be pretty damn incredible.”

“Starting to make me jealous,” Peter teased. “Although I’d gladly be the slice of bread in that PB&J sandwich.”

“Mmm, don’t give me mental images, tiger.” MJ sighed. “Besides, its a pipe dream anyway. Toe to toe with a triple threat like that...”

“You’d knock it out of the park, baby.”

“I’d have to get in the front door of the audition room.”

Peter sat up straighter. “Come on, positive thinking. Make real every passing fancy. Just keep telling yourself that you’re doing it: 'I am now acting alongside Viola Davis. I am competing with Viola Davis.'”

And Mary Jane laughed that high-octane and summer days laugh. Warmth bloomed in Peter’s tummy; MJ knocked her forehead against his shoulder like a frisky kitten.

Spectacular how they could waste time like this, just lounging in bed watching melodrama and still be as blissful as if they’d won the lottery. This wasn’t grand romantic gestures or partying til dawn; this wasn’t even sex. Just the two of them, warm and cozy.

“You planning on becoming a life coach?” MJ asked teasingly.

“How hard could it be? Yelling out ‘Come on, you can take that guy, you’ve got the sac!’ Sounds like a slice after substituting as a gym teacher.”

MJ watched him, as if he were some kind of prized acquisition she’d stumbled on by divine providence. He felt simultaneously insignificant and vital; his face turned slightly pink, and that only made Mary Jane laugh again.

Abandoning her toaster pastry and the goings-on at Middleton University, MJ crawled across the covers. The heat in Peter turned blazing as MJ sat astride his lap.

“Comfortable?” she asked.

“Snug as a pug getting a hug.”

“And he’s got a sense of humor,” MJ said to nobody in particular. “Did I luck out in the course of my daily grind or what?”

Peter squirmed. “Grind being the operative word.”

She kissed him softly on the lips. Even in a baggy t-shirt and sweats she was effortlessly sexy.

“I love you,” she sighed. Her head rested gently on his shoulder. Peter threaded his fingers through pure honey red hair.

“And I’m thankful for that every second of the day, baby.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you too.”

“You’re the sugar to my coffee,” she went on. The feel of her breath against his neck made his skin prickle in the most pleasant way. He wished he were actually wearing something under the blankets, but only because he didn’t want to ruin this with anything as crass as his own traitorous body.

But whether she noticed or cared was a question beyond Peter’s grasping.

“You’re the honey barbecue to my chicken wings,” MJ went on. “The fabric softener to my laundry.”

“You really know what to say to make a man feel special,” Peter sighed. He arched his neck as MJ peppered kisses across his throat.

“I mean it, tiger. You’re the chains to my winter tires; the pineapple to my pizza.”

Peter frowned. “MJ, you can’t put pineapple on pizza.”

MJ sat up, eyeing him warily. “You’re really going to ruin this with logistics?”

"Logistics nothing. It's just wrong to do that."

"It's a matter of taste. Do you actually want to overthink this to death?"

Peter chuckled. “No way. But still...pineapple on pizza?”

“It’s sweet. Like you.”

Peter smiled. “And you’re the savory slice of stuffed crust that I’m all up on.”

MJ folded her arms across her chest in a way that completely distracted Peter. “Stuffed crust?” Peter, still with his gaze fixed somewhere other than Mary Jane’s face, did not reply right away. Her eyes narrowed, MJ reached one hand under the blanket at Peter’s waist and squeezed a very sensitive area.

“Zoinks!” Peter squeaked. “S-sorry. Uh, I meant stuffed crust in the best way possible.”

Again, she laughed and then collapsed onto his chest. “Only being a tease.”

“Best damn tease I’ve ever had.”

“And don’t you forget it.” She snuggled close; Peter’s arms circled her. On the TV screen, Viola Davis continued delivering a bravura performance. Curlicues of dust drifted ever downwards in the slats of sunlight that peeked through the blinds.

Her heart beat against his own. The smell of her skin and hair mellowed him to complete calm better than any vapor from a drug. They fit together better than...

Peter smiled softly.

Maybe there wasn’t anything wrong with pineapple on pizza after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I've said it before and I'll say it again, but I love these two so damn much. 
> 
> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think!


End file.
